


I'll Be Right Here

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And S4 FINALE'S favourite au, Angst, Childhood Friends, Crack, Fluff, IT HAS IT ALL FOLKS, Institute Fundrasier, It wasn't meant to be crack but one does get Kinda Silly and that's Isabelle's fault, M/M, Martin returns, S4 gap sadness, Scottish Honeymoon, Some of this is OLD so it has stuff like S4's own favourite au, Tags will be updated if I add more, They're BOTH trans because I say so, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: A compilation of Jonmartin short fics, taken from tumblr1. ‘.. You’re gona come back to us, aren’t you? I hope so, at least.'2. ‘I really wanted to kiss you, that night. Didn’t, of course, thought it would ruin everything, break the spell or something.’3. At least he was wearing a tie though, which Jon had decided to forgo entirely in favour of one open button which.. Martin really should spend less time looking at.4. ‘Blackwood, you don’t want to know the amount of variations on your eye colour I had to hear lamented about.’5. ‘… I’m sorry that still doesn’t make it any better. I can’t- I will not accept a world in which we have the same first name, that’s terrible.’6. 'The rest of the crew cringe when they hear his scream over the comms, warped by static and poor signal, probably due to the fact that their signal tower was currently trying its hand at impaling their psychologist.'7. ‘Martin I can’t- that’s not me anymore. Jon Sims he- he died. He died in a wax museum of all places a year ago I’m not- He’s not- That’s not me!’‘How about Blackwood then?’
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 13
Kudos: 226





	1. Chapter 1

Martin was tired. Martin was sitting in a hospital room, on possibly the most uncomfortable chair imaginable, drinking cold machine coffee and he was so, so tired. But he got the feeling that, whatever Jon was seeing, he wasn’t having much better a time of it.

He was reluctant, when he reached out and took the other man’s hand. He knew he was alone, Georgie having left ten minutes earlier, and he didn’t think anyone else was supposed to visit today, but still. It felt creepy. He had no way of knowing if this was wanted, even tolerated, but he figured it was justifiable. It’s not as if he was going to kiss him or anything, as a wake up attempt or otherwise. He was just… Holding his hand. Letting him know, he hoped, that he was there.

Jon’s hand was cold, icily so. That made sense. No blood flowed if a heart didn’t beat. Martin couldn’t help it, tracing his thumb along the long fingers, over the joints, rubbing circles into the skin to try and get some feeling in it. His nails were wrong, too, just slightly off. He usually kept them very short, at first well filed but as time went on Martin had a suspicion he’d taken to nervously picking at them. Now they were just long enough that Martin would notice. The nurse who usually took care of them hadn’t been round in a while, then.

‘I know I say this a lot,’ Martin mumbled, eyes cast down, not daring to look at Jon’s face. Maybe, if he averted his own gaze long enough, Jon’s eyes would slide open, then probably berate him for unprofessional conduct. But that didn’t happen, so Martin kept tracing the lines on his palm.

‘… But I miss you. A lot. We all do, I think. Georgie does, but you’d know that. If you could hear me now, you could have heard us before. So don’t know why I’m saying this all again. Helps, I guess. Comfort myself with the illusion.’

‘.. You’re gona come back to us, aren’t you? I hope so, at least. Don’t want to think about the alternative, make myself seem like more of a wreck than I am already. Sitting alone in a hospital room… crying over my boss,’ he finished, realising his cheeks were wet.

‘But I’m staying right here. I know you don’t have.. That many people, that care about you, and definitely not as many as you deserve. But I’m here. I’ll be here. I care so much about you. So you better damn wake up for, me Jonathan Sims, because I would quite like to go and live my life, and I’m not going to go do that until you’re out of this room.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's based on a childhood friends au by @somuchbetterthanthat on tumblr!

Jon finds a box of old photos when he’s cleaning out his apartment one day. It’s a box he took when he moved here, but never actually unpacked. It’s got photos of them throughout the years, Polaroid’s showing acne and bad haircuts and making questionable decisions (they were rowdy kids by no means, kind and quiet Martin and stiff and booksmart Jon were not rebels). There’s a friendship bracelet, rope worn and frayed, the first thing Martin had ever given him when they’d only been friends a short while. Jon has treasured it. A detention slip from when Jon had gotten into his first and only proper ‘fight’, having punched an older boy after he’d said something to Martin that Jon didn’t even hear, but knew enough from the crestfallen look on his best friends face that he didn’t even want to. 

When Martin’s over next, they sit and sift through it. Most of the photos make them cringe in embarrassment, because who thinks they ever look good in old photos? There’s one though, that Martin pauses longer to look at, and gets a soft look in his eyes. It’s a dark, grainy photo of Martin when he was 16, camera close up in his face, held by Jon (Who’d decided that week he was going to be a Serious Photographer) , ocean just about visible in the darkness of the background, if you knew what you were looking for (and Martin did). He remembered the night with impressive clarity. Their one moment of ‘teenage rebellion’, sneaking out of their houses at 1am and down to the beach, laughing and full of anxiety and _freedom. _They ran back quickly half an hour later, Martin afraid of his mother needing him and Jon afraid for Martins sake, but for those perfect 30 minutes that sat on that beach, talking and drawing in the sand and taking terrible photos in what limited light the nearby streets provided.

‘What?’ Jon prompts quietly.

‘I really wanted to kiss you, that night. Didn’t, of course, thought it would ruin everything, break the spell or something.’

Jon’s face goes very still, eyes flashing with what, regret? Joy? Sadness? He adjusts his posture, leaning in closer and putting a hand behind Martins head. ‘Well, good thing these days you can do that whenever you want,’ and Martin meets him in the middle, feeling, ironically, like a giddy teenager


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not like Jon didn’t always look nice, in Martin’s eyes. 

Because of course he did. Martin would admit, he’d pretty much been smitten since he first saw him hunched over his desk, cardigan hanging off his thin frame, wearing an, albeit off centre, tie to work despite only being a junior researcher. 

But this was… Something different. 

Jon was fiddling with a cufflink before he noticed Martin. He walked awkwardly over, head swivelling about to take in the amount of rich people in suits that swathed around them. He wasn’t a fan of the institute fund raiser, it seemed. ‘Martin, there you are.’ 

He looked gorgeous, honestly. Dark brown and grey hair slicked back where, if he wasn’t paying attention, it would often slip into his face. Tailored suit befitting of one just recently promised the role of head archivist. And, surprisingly, a patterned shirt under it, a soft cream adorned with swirling black branches and monochrome flower buds. (A gift from Georgie, he’d later learn)

‘Martin?’ Jon enquired again. ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘Wow,’ Martin said, breath catching slightly. ‘You look amazing.’ He cursed how his voice tailed slightly high. 

‘Oh uh-’ Jon coughed, and Martin cringed at it’s awkwardness, ‘Thank- Thank you. You uh- You look nice, as well.’ 

Martin knew he was just returning the phrase, nothing special in his own, decidedly less nice, suit jacket. At least he was wearing a tie though, which Jon had decided to forgo entirely in favour of one open button which.. Martin really should spend less time looking at. 

The ensuing silence was mercifully broken when Tim slung an arm around each of their shoulders, jolting them back to reality. ‘Evening gentlemen, you’re both looking well.’ 

Martin let himself break into an easy laugh as a call of ‘Tim! Professionalism!’ Came from Sasha behind them. This earned the group a glare from a particularly stuffy looking gentleman to their right, but Martin couldn’t really bring himself to care.


	4. Chapter 4

‘It’s not really fair, letting him fret over you like that.’**  
**

The sudden noise was enough to startle him, and looking up to see Daisy leaning over his desk didn’t help much. ‘What?’

‘You’ve been back for weeks. And he’s just been… Hovering over you, half the time, worried the fogs gonna roll back in. And I’m not saying it wont, I get it, I know how this kinda stuff goes, but if you’re not going to say something to him, it’s kind of cruel, just letting him continue on like that.’ 

‘Daisy, I really don’t know what you mean.’

She lowered her voice, ‘_Jon_.’ Her gaze was averted now, a relief from the intimidating focus it had been prior, but almost like she was embarrassed at having to be direct.

‘_Jon_? That’s what this is about? I still don’t get why- Do you think I’m taking advantage of him or something? For what? I mean, sure I guess he’s being nicer than he used to, but that’s sort of a general thing now? He takes care of you and Basira too, and, yeah, I’ll admit, maybe it is nice to have someone care if I’m doing okay for once, but I hardly think that’s-’

‘You really haven’t noticed?’ And there was almost disbelief in her tone as she cut him off. ‘Martin he’s-_ stupidly_ in love with you.

The look on her face that followed meant she probably was not expecting him to laugh. He wiped at one eye. ‘Wow, Daisy that’s- Great. Funny. Hilarious. _No_. Jon Sims is not worriedly pining after me. How do I know? Because that’s been_ my _job for the last- what, five years? He is not in love with me, because I would definitely have done something about it by now.’ 

The clock on the wall made its presence known several times before she responded. ‘Then go do something about it.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I mean, you’re right, he is trying to be better now, to everyone, but it’s different for you. The only reason he’s not here now is because I had to drag him back by the collar from coming to offer you the fifth cup of tea of the day, which, by the way, did you two have some_ thing _with tea because he is just. Weirdly fixated on it, and he wouldn’t shut up about you when you were gone, and I know I haven’t really been… around here, since the beginning, but right now it looks like that man is head over heels for you and you just keep mildly accepting it without doing anything. I sat for months listening to him go on and on and on about how much he missed you, and now that you’re back, he just doesn’t know what to do with himself. So I’d suggest you march over to that office over there and kiss him.’

‘… Did he really talk about me that much?’ 

‘Blackwood, you don’t want to know the amount of variations on your eye colour I had to hear lamented about.’

‘_Oh_.’ 

‘Yes, “_Oh_”.’

‘I think I’ll… Maybe I’ll just uhh… Take that- that advice.’ 

‘Go get ‘em’ 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify - These are like, the rejected baby names their parents had, not their actual deadnames

‘“67. Any pets growing up?”’

‘A rabbit, but we kept it outside and a fox got it. Was a bit young to remember, though. You?’

‘No, but I’d feed the cats that would hang around my estate a lot.’

They were sitting at the cramped table, canned soup of the day cooling in front of them, Jon’s phone open to the sheet of ‘One hundred questions to ask a person to get to know them’ he’d saved before they’d reached the no internet zone.

‘“68. What else would your parents have named you?” Oh. Bit awkward, that one, do you want me to skip-’

‘No, no, it’s fine, I don’t mind, so long as you don’t.’

Jon nodded his approval.

‘I think my other options were Heather and Elizabeth? I think they decided “Heather Blackwood” had too much colour connotation for one name, though.’

‘My second option was Sarah, or if they were feeling particularly carefree, _Sara_, without a “H”.’

‘… Why Jonathan, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Grandfather’s name.’

‘Family tradition?’

‘Yes, I think it was what they were going to choose for me anyway. I didn’t particularly care to choose my own, so long as it wasn’t the god awful one they originally went with. Horrid name, I’m half convinced I would have ended up changing it anyway even if I wasn’t struck down with a case of “Surprise! You’re a boy!”’

Martin laughed, lowering his spoon as not to spill the contents. ‘Fair enough.’

‘What about you?’

‘Ah, well, mum liked Martin. Said “_It’s a sensible one, at least, if you insist on indulging in all this nonsense.”_

They both grimaced.

‘Yeah, yeah I know. But at least I won middle name rights. M. Keats Blackwood does have a ring to it, I think.’

‘Oh, definitely. Very…. Poetic,’ and they both had to resist snorting into their soup.

‘God, you’re such a nerd. Oh. _Christ_ I just remembered something and- You’re gona kill me for it.’

‘What?’

‘Well- Keats’s first name was John-’

‘Oh no.’

‘-So originally I thought-’

‘No, no, really Martin?’

‘-See, I told you! Originally I thought- I thought John for a first name?’

‘But with a “H”?’

‘But with a “H”!’

‘… I’m sorry that still doesn’t make it any better. I can’t- I will not accept a world in which we have the same first name, that’s terrible.’

‘What, you wouldn’t love me then?’

Jon spluttered, ‘I mean- I- Don’t ask me hard questions, it’s soup time! Martin you’re ruining my soup time. It’s- It’s my favourite soup and you’ve ruined it!’

‘Uh huh. What flavour of soup is it then?’

‘Uh- Potato and leek?’

‘Spring onion, but nice try.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look. in my defence i was very tired im not sure how it devolved from 'I'm having Trans Emotions' into 'Well. This can be read in Trexel's voice and it's an improvement' but it did


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martian Au for sci-fi au tumblr prompt!

There is sand _everywhere. _The front of his visor is engulfed in it, grains of sharp red shrapnel pummeling him from all angles, an assault on his senses. 

He_ thinks_ Basira is ahead of him, or at least she had been last he saw, before his vision was obscured entirely. His thickly gloved hands clung to the guide rope, leading him forward towards the escape shuttle. 

That’s when, above the shrill screech of the wind around him, he hears the scream. 

He feels the length of rope behind him fall lax, already attempting to bury itself in the dunes like a desert snake. 

Martin was gone. 

‘_Martin? Martin!’_ And he doesn’t realise he’s yelling into his comms at first until the static feedback threatens to deafen him. ‘_Martin are you there?_’ 

He counts a good three seconds before repeating himself, desperately trying to hold his hand up as a windbreak, and allow himself some semblance of vision out of his helmet. He doesn’t dare turn around yet. 

He’s only met with a garbled static from the open frequency. 

‘_Captain, I’m going after him,_’ and it’s a statement, not a request. 

‘_Jon, are you sure that’s-_’ and it’s all Basira can get out before Jon drops the safety rope too.

He turns. 

The wind isn’t as strong from this angle, allowing him a brief window of sand blowing through the air, a nice change from just seeing sand straining to smush itself into his face. 

Martin is lying a few metres away, half slid down a dune, face down in the sand with a pole skewering his left leg. 

The rest of the crew cringe when they hear his scream over the comms, warped by static and poor signal, probably due to the fact that their signal tower was currently trying its hand at impaling their psychologist.

Later, if asked, Jon would not necessarily say he flings himself down the slope towards his partner, but that’s pretty much what does. 

Despite his own boots sinking into the dirt, he’s on the ground next to Martin in seconds, shaking his shoulder, trying to rouse any amount of consciousness. 

‘_Martin? Martin I need you to look at me._ Please_ love_, please. _Wake up, we have to get moving_,’ and Jon had been very forcefully, repetitively told that they were not allowed to cry in the suits, to which Tim had smirked at him and said ‘Some chance of you doing that anyway, huh?’ and if he had the spare moment to think Jon would yearn for the days when they had time to joke around and for Tim to be a bit of a prick. Instead he was desperately trying not to break the rule as he tried to maneuver his unconscious partner into a sitting position without disturbing the javelin sized object puncturing his calf. 

‘_Jon, please. We have to go_,’ Basira pleads through his earpiece. She sounds as calm as ever, but to someone who knows her, her voice is practically shaking. ‘We don’t have much time.’ 

‘_I’m not leaving him!_’ and he doesn’t mean it to be as vicious as it comes out but hell if he cares. He’s not evacuating a fucking planet without the man he loves and that’s final. 

‘_… Alright. But I’m getting everyone else on board_,’ she sounds reluctant, but the message is closed with the crackle of their communication channel cutting out, leaving him in privacy, his mic only feeding into Martin’s helmet. He hoped.

He’s trying to wrap an arm around Martin’s shoulders, desperately hoping the lighter gravity would give him an advantage in trying to haul the larger man to his feet. He doesn’t even see the piece of tenting careening towards him until he’s knocked flat on his back, head ringing as his helmet slams to the ground behind him, contact with a rock slamming his vision into darkness. 

‘̤̄C̹̓a̧p̢͆tä̝͈́̊̑͜i̛̞̞͞n̨̯̊̆̎͜ ̫̑t̛̫̜̯̓͋h̓ͅȅ͇i̺̿r̫͒ ̲͠s̩̩̓̚i̺̯͂̄͜ǵ̤̹͊͆͜n̗̗̼̒̕̕a̭͘l̡̃ ̖̩̱͊ḭ̝̋̕s̻̻̊̋ ̨̫͖̎͡͠g̡͡on̜̰̭̍͋̕ȇ͓.̡̬̀ ͚͈̫̊́͑Ï̡̱̭̽͊ ̩͎̔̍c͓̜̲͆̓͝ã̘̒͢n̙̋'͇̱̃͂t̗̎ ̮̣̐͞g͙͒e̳̒t a ͍̖͋̐r͎̯̃͒e͍͠a͓͉͠d̰͆in̛̘̫̹͐̍ģ̅̃̍͢͢ ̰̘͒͒̊͢on͔̿̑͟ ̡̝̈͞t̻͙͚̒͑̂h̤̏͢͠ę̦͗̋̂ͅi̼̊r͚͊ ̪̄ò̤̯f̨̙̅ ̱͒t̗̭̯́̊͞ḣ̼͓͂em.'͚̓

̲̓'̙̗̋͝T̾͟ĥ͕̬͐͟͞e̹͔̊̎̚͜n ̑͜ẉ̢̄͋e̫̼͑̾ ̩͈̎̈͢͡ha̯͇͙̽̂v̙̙̩̉͂͑e̩͞ ̮̓to̮̣̻͌̔͘ g͎̓o̢͖̓̿.̡̬̐͌'̱͡

̡̭̘̭̲̈̓͆̐̂'̝͓̘̔̆Bû̢̫͚͂͐t̞͠ ̲́ẅ̮̪̜h͉̱͕͆̓̑a̜͗͟͠t͉̥͊͑ į̩͙͒̿̕f͙̘̍͠-̭̓'͖̲̑͞

̖̾'̭̣̬̿̈̈́S͙̺̾́a̧͔̗̓͊͒ş͔͇̆̈́̂h̲͒a,̹͋ ̢͚̄̀I͙͆'̤͛m͉̃ ̫̗̓͝s̡̬̣̐̇ŏ͕̬̏r̼͘̚͟ry͇̚̕ͅ, ̩̓bu̪̓t̥͉͑̒̚͜ ̡̞̝͊͂̄i͓͗f ̻̃ẁ͙͢͡é͉ ̥͍̝͑̈̎w̟̃a̞͈̓n͖̬̺̋̈͠t̬̏ ͙͈͋̅tö͕ ̡͚͂m̢̥̣̽͐̅a͉͆̒ͅk͈̬̉̍̏͜e ̘͔̲͑͐̓i̞͔̜͋͊̒ť̨̗̯̀͞ ̹͇̐̚ơ̢̻̊uṱ͞ ̢̯͎͛̐͞o̢͡f̢̞̎̾ ̪̫̇͗h̭͖̅͌e͉͠r̜̓e̼͗,̯̼͈͗͝ ̮͎͋͐̄͢w̦͑ẽ̢ ̗̕̚ͅh̫͕́̚a͉̲̜̍͝͝vė̺̝̀̔͢ ̟̂̔͜t̠̤̤͂̈͠o͙̓ ̖̟͎̒̌͛g̭̯͕̊̀͋ö̦͙́ _n̫̗̑͒ǒ̢̖̏͌͟w_.̜̕ ̲̟̊̏M͈̺̐̚e͖͓̰̔̆͝lȧ̯̗͠n̛͖̮̻͗͝i̘̔̾͟e̝̮̿̎,̡͍̻̂͛ ̱̕p̗͐r͉͓̓͆ep͕̺͇̿͠aṙ̖̥͈͊̌e̱̍ ̱͍̔̕ṯ͙̎̋he͈̬̕͝ ͎͒l͔͈̈́̇ä̹́unc͖̤̎̀h̩̓.̡̜͗̈'͐͜ ̲͞

'͚̽.̺͕̲̂̒͞.̯̰̺͑̽.̭͕̉̍Ÿ̖͙̻́̋͛es͢͝ ̧͚̱͗̓̚C̱͚̓a̦͈̩͋̈̽p͕͉͎̄͗̈́t̳̹̒͠ȁ͚͈̋̚͜i̹͆n.'͓̞́̚


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on @everchased's art of Jon calling himself The Archive and Martin being the affectionate version of spraying a cat with a spray bottle.   
I think this might have been one of the first Jonathan Blackwood pieces? Probably not THE first but I feel ahead of the trend

‘Martin I can’t- that’s not _me _anymore_. _Jon Sims he- he _died. _He died in a wax museum of all places a _year_ ago I’m not- He’s not- That’s not _me_!’

‘How about Blackwood then?’

He says it calmly, voice steady and measured, arms still around Jon’s waist while the smaller man holds fistful of his jumper, face trying to bury itself in his shoulder.

‘What?’

‘If you can’t- if you’re so insistent that Jon Sims no longer exists, how about Jon Blackwood, hm? Sounds a lot nicer than just Archivist.’

He trails his knuckles down the side of Jon’s face, thumb catching on tears as he goes. ‘I won’t… I refuse to give up on you, Jon. You saved me, and I will not let you sit here and wallow in monsterous pity. Because you are _not_ a monster. You’re the man I love and I will not hear elsewise, okay?’

Jon’s chest shakes, and he leans further into him for support. Martin continues to rub soft circles into the small of his back.

An ‘I love you’ comes, whispered between sobs, almost lost. But not quite.

‘I love you too. Do we have a deal then? Do you think you can do that for me, Mr Blackwood?’

Jon pulls back, watery eyes locking with Martin’s. ‘Yeah, yeah I think we do. Thank you… Mr Blackwood.’

Martin presses a kiss to the top of his head.

‘Wait. Shit. Did I just propose?’

Water logged laughter buries itself against him again. ‘We’ll talk about that later, I should probably finish the statement.’


End file.
